The Bittersweet Science
by Katherine Jasper
Summary: Eleven years ago, a boy was murdered. Time passes. His sister joins the B.A.U., swears to serve and protect, and has accepted her past as a victim. She blends with the team, the UNSUB sees. She thinks it's behind her, the UNSUB thinks differently. Because, as we all know, the past has a remarkable ability to dig itself up. And destroy the people you've started to love.
1. Introductions

This story is going through a bit of an identity crisis. XD I've finally changed the title to something I can live with. I think this is the last time. *crosses fingers*

**Rating:** T for now, will most likely turn to M later on. Includes Language, Violence, and Mature Themes. (There's no holding back when it comes to whatever you can encounter working in and with the people of the B.A.U.) This fic takes place in season seven, after Emily leaves and J.J. comes back from the Pentagon.

**Song for this Chapter:** Reunion- the xx

Enjoy the show! :D

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_**"The dead are never truly gone. They linger in our minds and hearts and torture us with a malice they were not capable of in life."**  
**― Courtney M. Privett, **__Shadows of Absolution_

* * *

_First up is a secret_, a subconscious cobweb- intricate and fragile, yet all the more obvious when light hits.

"Such a beautiful piano! Why aren't you taking it with you?"

A careful smile, a tiny shrug. "I-"

"Doesn't play anymore, such a shame." The older woman tisked, she ran her wrinkled fingers across the dust-swamped keys. "You were such a talent, Rebecca. I remember hearing you at that recital all those years ago...with your brother."

_ "...your brother..."_

Rebecca tightened her fingers around the edge of the frame and lifted a silent plea that Mrs. Meyer would leave it there. Small town tragedies were always the biggest and most known; eleven years had passed and people still gave her pitiful glances, they called her "the remaining Hollister child", even though she was twenty-seven years old.

"Do you think you can play me a tune so I know how it works?" the buyer gave her a smile, but in truth she knew the piano worked just fine. Later that day, she would tell any local who listened that she had heard the remaining Hollister child play again, and that every note tinged with unspeakable loss. Their reply to this would be more pitying glances, only Rebecca would no longer be around to keep them.

"A-Alright, Mrs. Meyer." the former pianist was taken back; hesitantly, she slid into the unfamiliar seat. Stretched out her fingers. "Anything in particular?"

"Piano Sonata Number 14, dear. Do you remember that one?"

"Of course I do." Rebecca gave a slight grin, "You never forget how to play a song, it's like riding a bike."

_C# Minor, remember the Adagio sostenuto, wrist up. _

_It's all math._

Her playing was precise, as the old woman remembered, no frills, no tricks...yet somehow, emotional. The girl kept the same face throughout, but every now and again she would catch a flicker of something behind those silver eyes. She interpreted it to be, as mentioned above, loss. Although a couple of weeks later a B.A.U. agent would smile and call it a "charming amusement." Rebecca herself never noticed this, she focused more on the keys, black and white. What was openly there.

_21st measure, Allegretto...mezzo forte...Presto agitato._

When the last note reverbed through the empty apartment, Mrs. Meyer clapped. "Bravo! I'll take it."

"Thank you, Mrs. Meyer." the young woman raised herself from the bench, wiped the dust off her fingers, and sighed. "For a second, I thought I would just have to leave the piano here. Do you think you can pick it up tomorrow?"

"I_ would_ pick it up next week, but..." she flit around the bare walls and wood floors. There was no evidence, besides the piano and a few books, that anyone had ever lived here. "I see you're leaving sooner...everything's already in Virginia?"

"Yep. Even my clothes, I've been living in tanks and sweat pants for the past few days." Rebecca downed the wine, chuckled. "My plane leaves Thursday."

"Then I'll have Claude send a couple of guys tomorrow. Oh, and before I forget..." she fumbled with a slight bundle in her purse, "he wanted you to have this."

The package exchanged hands, and before she looked down, Rebecca already knew that it had to do with Him. She could feel his presence, both feathery and crushing, bitter and sweet. In the distance, she heard ballet music...the soft thud of feet landing.

_"There you go, Oliver! Cross your legs! Rebecca, can you speed up the music? That's it, en pointe!"_

"He still goes on about how Oliver was his best student, only eleven and much more motivated than the other girls...and boys." A pause...and then. "Our whole town is proud of you, Becca Lynn. You'll go and give the bad guys hell, won't you?"

Her voice came out startled, like a kid's. "I will."

The remaining Hollister child swore she hugged her then half-expecting her to cry. And after a few, eternal seconds, the dance instructor's wife let go. Rebecca walked her to the door.

"Tomorrow at 12 a.m, Rebecca. Goodbye, dear!"

"Goodbye, Mrs. Meyer."

The door closed with a softened thud, an almost slippered one. And once again, she was both alone and with Him.

_It's been a while, Oliver._

Sometimes, during a particularly difficult case, he would sneak in her room and sit with her, until the pictures and numbers became transparent. If they were dead, he would coax the victims into Rebecca's dreams, especially children, and they stifled her screams while telling their stories. She was asked many times how she was able to solve some of the tougher cases, as if the reasons were perfectly tangible. Her co-workers teased her, "Come on, Dr. Hollister, is it luck? Are you blessed? Are you cursed?" But Rebecca believed in none of these things, just in the sheer force of circumstance.

For example, if her brother would have lived, there might have been more dance classes and piano playing, less use of academics as an outlet. Rebecca might have graduated at seventeen instead of fifteen, she might have majored in music theory and stopped with a bachelor's at twenty-two instead of two PhD's at twenty-seven. There might have been no urge to enlist in the F.B.I. academy, no numbers and photographs to decode, she might have walked down the street and see a tired man pass her by. Not one whose dark eyes and shaky fingers indicate withdrawal.

And...if she would have died instead of Oliver, he might have looked the other way whenever there was a piano in the room, just as she had when there were ballet slippers, bars, and posters. He might have developed a phobia of piano paraphernalia, or the opposite, an obsession with it. He might have grown up to be a unsub who kidnapped young, brunette piano players to dress them in her clothing, and then kill them to relive her death over and over-

"Stop!" she clenched her hair and shook her head until the poison dripped out. "Stop, Rebecca, he's been gone for so long. Why the hell are you acting like this?"

It wasn't until she halfway through calming herself with an episode of Jerry Springer, armed with volume twenty-three of Encyclopedia Britannica and Mr. Meyer's gift, that she realised what day it was. Why her mother sounded so tired on the phone this morning.

Exactly eleven years, five hours, and twenty-seven minutes ago, the police found what was left of him. A mound of ashes in a box. Just enough for them to discover that it was in fact Oliver Hale Hollister, nothing more, nothing less. They did not find who did it, who witnessed it, they found nothing but dust and bone fragments.

Rebecca didn't join the F.B.I.- contrary to popular belief- to find him. She joined because she could not be the same piano player, the same girl who accompanied the ballet troupe. She couldn't be Oliver's big sister anymore...

_"That's her over there. The pasty one."_

_"Your sister?"_

_"Yep." he caught her eye and waved her down. "Isn't she so beautifully plain?"_

He would say things like that, backhanded compliments that somehow made her laugh and want to slap him at the same time.

And now, as she looked down at Mr. Meyer's present, she saw him whole again. In a black and white photo, he was posing en pointe, the pale eyes they shared laughing back at her. She could hear his voice...

_"Becca, don't try that! You'll break your legs..."_ _She was always the happily clumsy one, and would often butcher their routines to make his class laugh during a tense moment. _

_"How do I do it then, Ollie Trolley?"  
_

_"Like this..." And with all the litheness of a child, he slowly expanded to almost her height. He looked like he was floating on the tips of his toes. "Slowly, Rebecca, you can't do it wearing sneakers!"_

_"I can! I am invin-"_

_The floor rushed up to meet her face, and she took Oliver down with her. __The class giggled._

_"Are you okay?"_

_"I'm bleeding."_

_Later, she bandaged both of their beaten knees. Kermit the Frog for her, Super-Man for him._

_"Invincible, right." she whispered._

Rebecca pressed the photo against her chest, and the words fell dizzying out of her mouth. "I'm sorta worried, Ollie...What if I'm just running away? Do you know there are only five hundred people living in Quantico? Of course you don't, you're fucking dead...Sorry. My apartment is in D.C. anyway." She pressed a palm against her forehead. "I-I know that this is what I'm meant to do...but I think that's only because of what happened-"

A quote from a long forgotten book dragged itself into her late-night abstraction.

_"Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."_

That night, while she dropped into a fitful sleep. She found him in her dream, sitting on a beach with another little boy, he drained sand from his fingers.

_"This is my big sister, Rebecca. She catches bad guys."_

_"Is she going to find him for the rest of us?" The younger boy gave her a shy smile, and she couldn't help but smile back at him. He looked like he was dressed in his dad's clothes; he wore thick glasses too big for his face, his hair was grown out, and she could see an almost overwhelming intelligence in his hazel eyes._

_"I hope it doesn't take as long for me. Do you know that after 48 hours the chances of finding a missing person decrease by about 2% an hour? Imagine eleven years!" The boy frowned, realising the math. "You would have negative 1,986.65 percent chance of finding me."_

_"Alright, Poindexter." Oliver rolled his eyes, "Where were you when I actually had to do homework?"_

_"I don't know, I-"_

_"Rhetorical question!" Oliver sighed, "Rebecca..."_

_There were slipping farther and farther from her, she tried to run. She had to know who the other boy was..._

_"Rebecca stop, you can't come with me."_

_"Who is he? Oliver, who is he?!" Her voice shattered, the little boy turned around to wave._

_"I'll see you later, Dr. Hollister!" he called._

I'll see you later...

* * *

Hmm...mysterious. Who is this little boy? How will Rebecca's life in the B.A.U. work out? Why does she like Jerry Springer so much? That paddling quote was from _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald

If you want any chance of finding out, review.

Right now.

Reviews for a starving writer. :3


	2. The Contemplators

Chapter two everyone! :P Thank you to everyone who has viewed and reviewed my humble story. I hope you continue to do so in the future. :) The rest of the team makes their appearance in this chapter!

Song: Welcome to the Black Parade- My Chemical Romance

*Doctor Who references ahead* (Nothing too bad though, for those of you non-Whovians, in a science fiction T.V. show and Oods are an alien species.)

Enjoy the show!

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**"Human thought has no limit. At its risk and peril, it analyzes and dissects its own fascination. We could almost say that, by a sort of splendid reaction, it fascinates nature; the mysterious world surrounding us returns what it receives; it is likely that contemplators are contemplated."-**

**Victor Hugo, Les Miserables**

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_Her instatement was both a very large and very small ceremony._ In every corner, there stood an uniformed officer, along with various politicians and fellow members of the Bureau. And, slightly to the right, all in one group, you could spot the special agents of the Behavioral Analysis Unit; some smiling, some looking rather...analytical._  
_

"All rise."

A colorful woman in her soon to be unit tossed her a wink and a thumbs-up. She held it with a grateful smile and hid her unsteady hand behind her back, leaving the other one raised palm-up.

"Poor girl, she's nervous." Penelope Garcia nudged the man next to her, "Hey, chocolate thunder, what rating would you give her?"

Derek Morgan shook his head. "I'm not going to check the new girl out right now, sweetheart." Of course, mention of anyone's looks was inevitable, as rating was a common practice with Garcia and Morgan. From secretaries and stiffs, to even Reid in the mornings, everyone eventually earned their one to ten rank.

The Judge, for demonstration, was a four point three. He had the cruelest face they had seen in a while, and it matched perfectly with his stress-baldness.

"I appreciate the fidelity, baby. I'll let Kevin know-"

Rossi hushed them as the Judge began to speak: "Dr. Hollister, you may repeat the Oath of Office."

She swallowed, her unstable hand on the bible. "I-I, Rebecca Lynn Hollister, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter...so help me God." This line was silently empathized.

It was acceptable, the Judge cleared his throat. "May I present to the Bureau, Supervisory Special Agent Hollister of the Behavioral Analysis Unit."

And thus, after a light applause, marked the start of an illustrious career. Rebecca absent-mindedly shook hands with Mr. So and So, a representative from Somewhere, whose face she remembered from an article titled _Congress Call-Girl Scandal! _before finding her team on the lovely, abandoned right.

_They look so close, like a family._

"Here's our rookie!" The winker was first to greet her, "Penelope Garcia, Teach Analyst and Doctor Who fan."

"...Rebecca Hollister, Ood specialist." The New Girl's smile was genuine, Garcia _was_ as lively as she seemed.

Next up was an older man, "David Rossi."

"Nice to meet you."

A tall, blonde woman, "Jennifer Jareau, but the team calls me J.J." The other agent's grip was much firmer than her own. Rebecca made a mental note that she should probably work out before her next physical.

"Derek Morgan." The profiler smirked, and after shaking her hand, gave Garcia a number and a shrug.

"Seven."

While she was trying to figure out what that meant, a man about her age stepped into view. He stood almost painfully thin and in his satchel she made out the tattered spine of a copy of _Rakovyy Korpus_.

"Spencer Reid. It's nice to meet you." He had eerily soft palms.

"This is our resident genius, so if you have any obscure questions that Google can't answer, you need only ask." chipped Garcia.

Her boss was last; a tense, but not entirely indifferent-looking man. "Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief." His hair and irises were the color of coal.

"Pleased to meet you, sir." She later noticed that, unlike the rest of the team, he seemed to never smile. Rebecca thought this was because he saved them for great moments, when the expression would be worth more.

***A Glimpse Into the Future***

_**Five hundred and eighty days later, when she took her first steps for the second time, he would prove her right.**_

"So...now that we're all introduced, are you ready to go?" J.J. checked her watch, "We have an hour if we're planning to keep the table."

"And you don't want to be late for your own instatement dinner. It looks tacky." Garcia walked with her as the team made their way out of the courthouse. It was time for small talk. "So, New Girl, where did you come from?"

"Waynesville, Ohio. It's one of those small, antique towns."

"And what was your trade?"

The new girl smiled, aware of her humble former position. "Social Work."

Rebecca noted that her career was the only thing she had left; her brother, of course, was long dead, and her parents decided to live out the rest of their years in Albany. All of her friends and acquaintances from high school and college had moved on, gotten married, and dug into their apple-pie slices of Americana, like most adults sprinting towards thirty.

_But me? I joined the F.B.I. I live in a one bedroom apartment. M__y lasting relationships are with books and Trash TV._

_And that's okay._

Hollister changed the subject. "Who's your favorite doctor?"

"Hmm...I'd have to go with the fourth. You know, one time Reid crocheted an exact replica of Tom Baker's scarf for this convention we went to."

"It took a month and a half." the crocheter added, slowing down to walk with Garcia. "And it wasn't an _exact_ replica; Tom Baker's original multicolored scarf was thirteen and a half feet long, mine was only eleven and six inches. Oh, and did you know that The Fourth Doctor's scarf was created by accident? The costume designer provided more wool than was actually needed. The knitter misunderstood his instructions and used all the wool she was given. They wanted to toss it, but Baker liked the overly long scarf, and ended up wearing it for the show-"

He glanced at Rebecca's polite smile and Garcia's less-than-discrete eye roll. His collar suddenly felt a lot tighter. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"You sure are, boy genius." She turned and patted the rookie's arm, "Try to get used to it, Hollister, or you'll be lying awake trying to get _that_ out of your head."

Reid grinned, "Actually, memories or repetitive thoughts don't trigger insomnia." And he chuckled when Garcia did a very convincing attempt at a glare.

"_Don't_ make me slap you in front of all these people."

* * *

_The Ruota del Sorte_ was known as the best Italian restaurant in Virginia, but it wasn't one of those glitzy, I-can't-understand-the-menu-and-why-is-the-wine-so -damn-expensive eateries. The tablecloths were hand-knit and there were groups of teenagers sitting on the other side of them, laughing and discussing a huge project due the next week. Hollister sat in between Rossi and J.J., and oddly enough, she never felt more comfortable having dinner with co-workers, especially ones she had just met.

"This place is so homey..." Garcia's eyes suddenly grew behind her glasses, "Oh my goodness, is that a genuine _Asteroids _console!"

"Looks like it." said Reid, seeming uninterested.

"Are you all ready to order?" The waiter wore a folk costume and spoke with an obviously fake, but entertaining accent. He gave J.J. a particularly wide smile.

"I'll have the scampi a zuppetta and two bottles of..." Rossi looked around the table, as if the type of wine was carved on their foreheads, "...Famiglia Anselma Barolo."

"Ah, great choice, sir." He looked to Rebecca, "What will the _bella signora _be having?"

"The tortellini con prosciutto."

The waiter gave J.J., Garcia, and Hollister fleeting glances while taking down the rest of the team's orders.

The wine arrived very quickly, and he was more than eager to offer J.J. his apologies while reaching across her to deliver the glasses. Morgan shook his head as soon as server was far enough not to see them.

Garcia scoffed. "He's certainly friendly, isn't he?"

"Friendly's a word for it. " said Rossi, pouring his glass to the brim, "Let's make a toast. To Agent Hollister," he gestured to the flattered rookie.

"I hope you're ready." And, for whatever reason, he smirked while he said this.

"I hope you can stand it here." J.J. clicked her glass to Rebecca's.

"I hope you...make us proud." and Hotch allowed himself a half-tilt in her direction.

It was Morgan's turn. "I hope you're the best rookie profiler the unit's ever seen." And, if you were wondering, this was said honestly.

Reid took a few seconds to think. "...I hope you find what you're looking for."

"And I hope you know that everyone in our team is family." Garcia brought her glass to hers, she gave her a weighted look.

"Thank you." Rebecca said, "This...wasn't what I was expecting."

_I was expecting indifferent men and pretentious women who took a year or two to even recognise me as one of them. Not a colorful Whovian, a shy genius who crochets, and a team that welcomes a new girl with open arms on the first meeting..._

"We're a tad different in the B.A.U. We like to take...a more _personal_ approach."

Reid laughed at J.J.'s pun. Garcia stood up at tapped him on his sweatered shoulder.

"Come on, Doctor, let's see this treasure while we wait. Asteroids is calling my name!"

All around her, the team loosened the brief stiffness of court. They played and drank, debated and talked. If someone were to take a picture and show it to a stranger, they wouldn't have seen a set of F.B.I agents. They would have seen two friends playing an arcade game, a man showing a rare smile over a glass of wine, a woman playfully punching a man for cat-calling over his shoulder. They would have seen a close, mix-matched group.

And Rebecca Hollister would have no problem considering these people her family.

_***A Small But Important Fact***_

_**At the same time, a boy was running in the darkness. **__**He had dropped his shoes. **_

_**"Please...go away!" **_

_**A man reached for him, fingers caressing, seeking. **__**Finding.**_

_**"No! Help, someone! Please!"**_

_**There was the swift sound of silver, a pierced leg. **_

_**"Please..."**_

_**The last thing he saw was a mop of yellow hair above him. **__**A**__** malevolent hallo.**_

_**"Hello there."**_

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I hope this chapter was better than the last! :O) And if you want more, less, or a cookie, review!

Please.

Now.

I'm desperate...D'X


	3. Severe Implications

Hello there! :D Here's a fresh, handmade chapter! Thanks to:** Not-Knowing-Is-Everything, MilliePrue-BellatrixLestrange, sea of destruction,** and **Guest** for reviewing! And thanks to all of you who read, alerted, and favorited this story.

**Song for This Chapter:** Blinding- Florence + The Machine

Enjoy the show!

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_**"It sends out a very clear message: Mess with us and we'll do something worse than kill you. We'll kill your children."  
― Suzanne Collins, **__The Hunger Games_

* * *

The Van Ness Metro Station was a monster in disguise_. _Everyday, it swallowed up tens of thousands of unsuspecting commuters and crammed them into steel stomachs.

_First, it stuns them_, Rebecca mused, _with the unstable departure schedule. The anonymous blur of faces and disembodied shoulders, ass-grabbers, and screaming children. Sensory overload._

Her eyes followed the twitching timetable:

**Baltimore: 15 mins. Gate 2.**

**Trenton: 20 mins. Gate 5.**

**Philadelphia: 10 mins. Gate 1.**

**Quantico: 5 mins. Gate 4.**

Gate Four was on the other side of the station, behind a plethora of scurrying bodies. There were a few miscellaneous people standing in its arch; a woman and her child, a teenage girl, a graying man, and a younger one- whose familiar, chestnut hair Rebecca kept her focus on while she sprinted.

"Excuse me."

"Hey!"

"Watch it."

"Need a man, baby?"

Hollister's calves ached by the time she reached the mother, who turned around to chuckle at her. Rebecca swore the woman was going to tell her that she should definitely start gym training before the next physical...

"You're just in the nick of time, huh?"

"Yes, Ma'am." said she, relieved. Her voice traveled a few more feet and the man with the well-known head turned around...

Spencer Reid looked as if he had never seen another person ride the Metro. "Dr. Hollister...?"

"Dr. Reid-"

Suddenly, a child's wail.

There was a train passing by, and much to Rebecca's surprise, it took the lights of the underground with it. For a few eternal seconds, there was nothing in her mind but darkness, wind, and screeching.

_**"They found his ashes in a box."**_

_**"A dark, cramped space..."**_

The walls strained themselves around her. They pushed her stomach down, along with everything else in her satchel.

And, as quickly as they went, the lights turned back on.

_I really should have rented a car..._

"Is this your first time on a subway?" Both doctors were on their knees, but only Reid was smirking.

Hollister caught a rolling pencil. "I was that obvious?"

He said nothing and handed her the bruised corpse of _Our Mutual Friend. _

"Thank you." Rebecca quickly dropped the book in her bag. She didn't want to look at its cover until she got home, where it would be pressed between a dictionary and a thesaurus for several nights._  
_

"Did you know_ Our Mutual Friend _was Dickens' last completed novel? He died while still writing _The Mystery of Edward Drood_." The ceiling blinked its eyes again, and she focused on the rambling voice of her team member. "Charles Dickens is actually one of my favorite authors, my mother used to read his works to me all the time. So, I guess, you could call him..._our mutual friend_."

The rookie chuckled the way she would at her family's cheese-ball jokes. And this didn't hit her until she realised the copy was Oliver's.

Rebecca pondered this as Reid trailed her up the steps of the train. _I took all of his books. I let Mom donate his clothes, his mix-tapes, his Nintendo, even his tights and slippers...but I took every one of his books. __Why?_

Perhaps it was because he didn't enjoy reading as much as Rebecca did, so it wouldn't seem desperate or unhealthy if she kept this part of him with her. After all, books were universal. He didn't sleep or sweat in them like clothes, he didn't spend hours picking the right songs and giving them moods like 'Giddy' and 'Somber', he didn't shout out his first awkward curse words while jiggling their handles, and, most of all, he didn't cry, dance, and feel invincible in them. Books just gathered soot in the corners of his shelves. Occasionally, he'd skim through one, get bored, and then doodle in the pages. To him, they weren't alive, they weren't memorable.

They just were.

Hollister and Reid sat across from each other, on the outside of their rows. The teenager from the arch settled next to her, absorbed in a sketchbook. She wore headphones with no music.

Reid busied himself with a pen and notepad. He wrote slower than you would expect, being able to read an entire textbook in four minutes. Rebecca watched him filter every thought; the way he drummed his pen against his lap and re-read the words if they were good, or the way he straightened his collar and shut his eyes if they weren't.

_Don't I have something better to do besides stare at him?_

_Our Mutual Friend_ sat in her bag, unattended and calling. Hollister opened to page seventy-four, as she often read books out-of-order. She started with the chapters that had interesting titles, then the other ones. And then she'd go straight through, so every book she had ever read she memorized and read twice.

A highlighted passage caught her eye, followed by a small drawing and a caption:

_**Though so young, she infused in these parting words a love that was far more like a mother's than a sister's, and before which the boy was quite bowed down. After holding her to his breast with a passionate cry, he took up his bundle and darted out at the door, with an arm across his eyes. **_

It was their likenesses staring back at her, laughing and glowing. She was instantly reminded of childhood; the sting of her mother's brush breaking down the frizzy tangles of her hair and those huge, flannel shirts that they nicked from Dad's dresser. The woman traced their shared cloud-spat grey eyes, how his smile was much more natural than hers.

"Why do you draw in books?" Reid peered over her shoulder at the inked pages, "I mean, taking notes in them is perfectly normal but...sketches?"

The remaining Hollister child almost shuddered at the thought of defiling a book. "Oh no. This was my brother's, he didn't like reading much."

"I'm very sorry." he noticed her confused face and elaborated, "I...I read about Oliver's case during a lecture, Cold Cases and Small Town Casualties..." Reid let this title echo in his ears. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean for that to sound so insensitive." The doctor silently scolded himself, remembering how J.J. eyes teared up whenever her sister was mentioned and the time Morgan screamed at him for repeating a molestation statistic during the Carl Buford case._  
_

"It's fine, Reid." Rebecca was quick to change the subject, she tucked _Our Mutual Friend_ back into her satchel. The girl next to her shifted and pulled out her phone.

"So, what are you writing?"

"The daily letter to my mother."

Hollister smiled. Despite a tri-monthly check-in, her Mom still yelled at her for not calling enough. "That's very sweet."

"Depends on why I write her."

"What do you mean?"

Reid looked at the paper. "My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic. I write her letters so I won't feel guilty about not visiting her."

He left it at that and so did she. They've only spent an accumulated three hours and forty-four minutes with each other between thursday night and this morning and seemed to have the awkward affinity for stumbling upon painful details. Of course, being in the job they were in, everyone practically lived with one another. They were a team, a family. But practicing and being fully comfortable with that fact still took time.

Reid nursed a sip of his coffee while Rebecca decided academics was the safest subject to fill the next twenty minutes with. "What are your P.H.D.s in?"

"Mathematics, Chemistry, Engineering, and Philosophy. Yours?"

"Sociology and Linguistics. So I can determine the detriments of your childhood while correcting your use of "Father and Me"."

Reid chuckled, "And Garcia thinks my humor is lame. Wait, I have a philosophy joke! How many existentialists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

"How many?" she asked.

"Two. One to change the lightbulb, and one to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothingness."

A pause.

"You are, without a doubt, the most lame, Dr. Reid." And much to his shock, she laughed. Not one of those hesitant, polite hahas! The dimple in her left cheek showed; it was genuine.

"Rossi gave me the death glare when I told that one." The train stopped and he lit a smile in the dark.

"And everyone else groaned?"

"Nope, worse! They just stared at a cracked ceiling tile above my head."

The agents weaved their way through a departing crowd of stereotypical, frowning suits, high-heeled business woman, tourists, and a lone teenage girl. Her eyes clung to the pastiness of Rebecca's legs, the newborn blanket blue of Reid's vest.

_It's them...Much catch up...Or else..._

She saw Michael and her nicking beer from the fridge and her father's strong arms scooping her of the couch. The heavy, summer nights they spent catching fireflies while Dad talked to the pretty neighbor girl from the creaking porch steps. Then she saw herself without these things, these small and huge chunks of her life.

"Mr. Reid! Miss Hollister!"

The panicked call of a child sent their bodies into response; Spencer groped for his gun in an empty holster while Rebecca ran to the girl. A few, scattered people froze and watched.

When two-sevenths of the B.A.U. finally reached her, she dropped to her knees and wept. This was not in the instructions. They will be punished.

"H-He said to f-find you...pl-please help! He's got m-my brother, he's got my d-dad..."

Reid stiffened and looked around at the gawking faces. "I'll call Hotch."

"He told me...to give you the letter. Instructions..." It hurt to speak, the pills were wearing off. He said they would give her more...

"Sweetheart, look at me." The woman held her up, "Do you know who or where _he_ is?" Her voice sounded so far away, but her arms were right there. Burning her.

The girl clung to her train-mate's blouse. "Just...take it. It's on my stomach."

_Why does everything feel so hot? Am I on fire? He didn't write this._

Agent Hollister gave her a questioning look, "On your stomach...", she reached for her shirt with shaking fingers. _Be calm. Be cool. For her._

"P-Please...help."

_Is...Is that?.._

Rebecca forced something almost unmentionable back down her throat. She screamed, "Reid! Get an ambulance!"

The genius stood over her, frowning over the remnants of the teenager's abdomen. Tucked under a border of black string, there was an envelope; it's heading smudged in dried blood but still terrifically clear.

_**To the ladies and gentleman of the B.A.U.**_

_**Open with care.**_

* * *

The agents of the B.A.U. met for their morning briefing that afternoon.

"The surgeons spent two hours uprooting the instructions from Delaney Cooper." Hotch held the bagged envelope. "Other than the obvious, there were no other signs of bodily harm."

"Instructions indicate a need to constantly be in control, so we're looking for a dominant personality. The unsub takes the Dad and sends the girl to deliver their message, they prey on the weak." Morgan glanced at Hollister, "Aren't you having one hell of a first day?"

She briefly nodded and sipped her coffee.

"I don't think our vic's father has much to do with this. Garcia, can you send copies of the letter to our tablets?" Their leader handed the original to Reid, who was, as Garcia put it, technologically primitive.

"Of course, my dear sir."

Rebecca closed her eyes and tried to shake the dream she had right before she moved.

**_"Rebecca stop, you can't come with me."_**

**_"Who is he? Oliver, who is he?!"_**

**_"See you later, Dr. Hollister!"_**

To take it seriously would be ridiculous. That boy was _not_ Delaney's brother, Oliver was _not_ trying to let her know ahead of time. The dreams he starred in were made out of worry and anticipation, it was a trick her subconscious played when she needed to piece a case together.

"He left individual messages for everyone." Reid stated. "It's almost as if he's trying to have us relate to him."

Hollister looked at the words. They were written in a fluid cursive, clean and precise. She assumed this would describe many parts of their unsub.

**_If you are reading this, then I would like to assume you are a member of the F.B.I. Preferably Agents Hotchner, Morgan, Reid, Jareau, Garcia, Rossi, or Hollister. _****_If you are not any of those people then please pass this on to someone who is, because I am expecting a phone call very soon from Aaron Hotchner and I don't think you would want to keep me waiting. I have two people in my care and I plan on getting rid of the oldest one soon, and depending on how smooth this goes said man will leave this place alive._**

**_First things first, you can search the apartment if you'd like. You won't find any DNA but maybe it'll give you a little insight into my mind. I will be totally honest in saying that this is about a wrong that needs to be righted. I took the boy because he reminded me of one from the past. As implied, he is not the first and -after the next three months- won't the last. I say three months because this is how long it will be until the chase begins. You don't have to worry about anyone else but the sons, I don't intend on taking any more family members, I didn't do that when it came to the other boy and _****_have no use for the Father. I will give you his location as soon as you call me at this number, 703-912-1725, where you will find him unharmed. _**Tell poor Delaney she will have a home to come back to and that I only used her to get my point across. (I'm afraid I don't have the time to wait years like I did with the first one.)

**__****_ And long as you don't start poking around early, I will make a few promises._**

**_1. I will take no other boys._**

**_2. I will not harm the one I have now._**

**_3. Agent Hollister will have her shot at vengeance. Or, do you think Oliver would want her to keep the fury held inside until she dies? Don't scoff and pretend you're over it, Doctor, because you're not. You tossed your piano and picked up psychology, I went to one of your recitals. It was your passion, you breathed it. You could have gone to Julliard but went to Cornell instead. You wanted to catch us, the bad guys. You had a P.H.D. at nineteen. That takes drive, Rebecca. We have that in common, among other things I'm sure you'll find out about later._**

**_I have done my research on the B.A.U.'s elite, I am not much different from you. _****_Dr. Reid, do you remember those high school bullies? What Alexia Lisbin did? My tormentors did something similar but much worse, they caused this. _****_Agents Jarreau and Hotchner, can you imagine your little boys being attacked for doing something they loved? Dressing up? Soccer? Can you imagine them being taken? (Not that I will try to take them, they aren't what I'm looking for.) _****_Morgan, I do this because there are predators like Carl Buford in the world._**

**_Agent Garcia, for years you blamed yourself for your parents' deaths, I blamed myself for my mother's abuse and downfall. It's my fault I was a rebel, it's my fault I couldn't be that jockey, small town football player. Now someone else has to pay._**

**_After you reach Delaney's father, you will most likely try to find any connection to me. I do not know them personally, I am just a passing face. _**

**_I will check in every month to make sure you're keeping up your end of the deal._**

**_Good luck, Agents._**

"I don't understand. It's apparent that he wants to be caught, so why wait three months?" J.J. looked a little agitated, as any mother would at the mention of her son from a psychopath. She recalled Izzy Rogers, how she sat Henry on her lap and threatened him with a nursery rhyme.

"He probably wants to set-up a safe place, spend time with the victim." Morgan also seemed a little wounded. He knew that Carl Buford's crimes were public record, but statute of limitations prevented him from ever being considered a victim. The unsub would've had to talk to one of the few people who knew. "This is a game to him and he wants a head start. Do you think he's been watching us?"

Rebecca's stomach lurched at this, how would a unsub know she was going to ride the Metro? How long has he been watching to have been at her last recital twelve years ago? He mentioned vengeance...could it be-

She cut herself off. No, don't speculate. That's what he wants you to do. He wants you to be blinded by your own emotions. Swallow them.

"We can't rule that out, but most of the things he mentioned were public record." Hotch paused and turned to a televised Garcia. "Do you have anything on the number?"

"Unfortunately, It's a prepaid cell phone. I can't track it until it's turned on."

"So we call him, then." He looked at his team, "Rossi and J.J., I want you to search the apartment as soon as we get the address. Garcia, do any research you can on the Cooper family. You need to search for any similarities between them and previous cold cases. Reid and Morgan, I want you two to wait here for a few minutes before heading to the hospital. Agent Hollister, may I have a word in my office?"

Aaron Hotchner had a perpetual poker face; straight mouth, casual glance. He could've wanted to congratulate her on how she handled the victim, or chastise her for it.

Rebecca was worried, "Of course." She trailed him out of the room and down the corridor, trying to walk tall the whole way. The rest of the team followed along with their eyes.

After a small silence, Morgan asked. "How did she react to the sister?"

"She was fine." Reid said, confuddled. "A lot better than I would've expected on a first day. He's probably asking her about her brother's case."

"He was kidnapped, right?" Rossi stirred some cream in his coffee, going over a line from the letter. _Agent Hollister will have her shot at vengeance._

"And murdered. They never found who did it."

"How old was he?" queried J.J.

"Eleven. And the medics said Delaney's brother was ten. Same age, and he did mention that he took another boy years ago."

"But it's a different M.O., the family was used to prove a point and the unsub seems almost desperate for attention. Oliver's murder was quiet and low-key." Morgan objected.

The dates from Oliver's case spewed from the cabinets of Reid's brain. They shrugged off the dust and ran out of his mouth. "They found him on September, 14th, 2001. That means the space between kidnappings is exactly eleven years and fourteen days. What could serve as a big enough trigger to make him do something he hasn't done in over a decade?"

The agents of the B.A.U. pondered this in silence.

Meanwhile, Hotch gestured for Rebecca to have a seat. His office was plain and half-lit, it's only decoration a tiny fern and a picture of a boy (who Rebecca saw as the splitting image of his father) and a beautifully sad blonde woman. She wondered why her boss didn't wear a ring.

Hotch settled opposite of her, glancing at the photograph. "I know this may be a hard question, Hollister. But did police ever find your brother's killer?"

She shifted, uncomfortable. "No, sir."

"Do you think about him often?"

Rebecca remember Mr. Meyer's gift, the call from her mother. "Occasionally. His..." what could she call it, deathiversary? "...The day of his death just passed, so I've been thinking about him more than usual."

Hotch paused, weighing his words. "My ex-wife, Hayley, was murdered by a unsub."

"My sympathies, sir." Rebecca frowned, looking at the woman in the picture. She knew where this was going.

"When I found him, I killed him with my bare hands. Just as easily as I could have shot him in the leg." His eyes showed a small flash of empathy. "The unsub wrote that you will get a shot at vengeance. If he turns out to be your brother's killer, would you take it?"

The remaining Hollister child thought of the screaming nights, the boy she kissed, the forgotten pianos, and skipped recitals that clouded her teenage years. She gave up a passion, the unsub was right about that, she traded in something she breathed because it was too painful.

But she wasn't angry, not like she used to be.

Rebecca was tired.

"I don't think so," she said this slowly, as if she herself was astonished. "I only thought about revenge once, the night he died. I threw a tantrum and took everything out on my piano." She felt the bruised knuckles, skinned knees, and Dad's panic the morning after. "I didn't join the B.A.U. to get revenge, I joined it so there would be less cases like mine. I never expected to find Oliver's killer...and I don't expect to now."

"You don't think the unsub is Oliver's killer?"

"I think he wants me to believe that, just as he wants everyone else to find something in common with him. This is a game for him, he wants to use our emotions."

There was an edge in her voice that suggested that the subject had reached its point.

Hotch stood up and she followed, "I hope you know what you're getting into, Agent Hollister."

"I do too, sir." Hollister started towards the briefing room when she was called again.

"I would like you to go with Morgan and Reid to the hospital and interview the sister if she's willing. I'll update you with information on the father as soon as I call the unsub."

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner."

He gave a final nod and shut the door behind him.

The briefing room was buzzing when she stepped in. Reid was playing cards with Rossi while Morgan and J.J. were casually arguing about something she couldn't hear.

"Are you going to the hospital with us?" The doctor asked over his deck.

"Yep." She walked to her seat and collected her tablet. "I guess I live to see another shift at the B.A.U."

Morgan shook his head and smirked, "One hell of a first day, Hollister." He stood up and went to get the keys for a Bureau car, she played the sentence over again.

_"One hell of a first day, Hollister..."_

She wondered what was coming in the past few days, weeks, months? She wondered what was going to happen to Delaney and to this boy?

And how she was going to have to meet it when it did.

* * *

Thanks for reading, now it's time to review!

Now.

I'm watching.


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